Volume Two: Shadows of the Past Chapter Forty-Eight: Where Is My Money?

"One hundred and fifty million? Are you joking?" Wang Shumin was taken aback by Chen Jing's budget estimate, staring at him in disbelief.

At first, Lin Xi was also startled by Chen Jing’s claim, then gave him an exasperated look. "One hundred and fifty million? Where on earth did you get that figure?"

"Uh..." Chen Jing was caught off guard. He glanced at Lin Xi, hesitated briefly, then turned to Lin Zitan and asked, "How much income did I get from album and song royalties the past two months, plus all other earnings?" Since confessing his dual-world transporter identity to Lin Xi and Lin Zitan, Chen Jing had handed over all his income management to them.

Without hesitation, Lin Zitan replied, "The song royalties alone are over ten million, and there's another five million or so."

Wang Shumin listened enviously. Indeed, stars make money fast. If she had that kind of cash, she would have invested in films herself long ago.

Chen Jing frowned. "Only fifteen million? That’s clearly not enough."

Lin Xi rolled her eyes at Chen Jing. "You’re overthinking this. That one hundred and fifty million is after tax, but do you think you haven’t spent any money these past two months? The music video alone cost over four million, you donated around eight million, then there are your previous debts and miscellaneous expenses. Honestly, it’s a miracle if you have a million and a half left now."

Chen Jing was shocked by Lin Xi’s words. "Really? Am I spending money that fast?"

Lin Zitan looked at him with disdain. "Do you think you’re the one spending? It was you demanding the music video be produced at a movie-level standard, so the costs just skyrocketed."

Chen Jing forced a smile, speechless. It was true he had spent quite a lot chasing the desired effects for the music video.

Wang Shumin couldn’t hold back any longer and decisively interrupted their humblebragging. "Putting aside whether you actually have money, I want to ask, what kind of movie are you planning to make? A budget of one hundred and fifty million—are you aiming for a blockbuster? These days, any film over a hundred million is considered a major production."

Chen Jing shook his head helplessly. "I want to make a blockbuster, but it seems like I don’t have enough funds."

Wang Shumin rolled her eyes. "Making a movie doesn’t mean you have to pay all the money yourself. Why not find an investor?"

At this, the three of them fell silent. Wang Shumin was puzzled. "What? Am I wrong?"

Unable to avoid the truth, Chen Jing awkwardly confessed, "Well... no one has invested in our film."

"You actually tried to find investors?"

"Yes, but as soon as they hear I’m directing it, they all say ‘next time for sure.’" Chen Jing shrugged.

Wang Shumin was speechless. “Did I just get on a sinking ship?”

Chen Jing hurried to comfort her. "Don’t be so pessimistic. If there’s no money, we can start with a smaller production first." He couldn’t afford to lose the professional crew they’d managed to gather.

Wang Shumin retorted, “Where’s the script? Let me see it.”

Chen Jing quickly opened a drawer and pulled out the script on top, then hesitated and put it back. He then selected another script from underneath.

Since the funds were tight, they wouldn’t shoot the first one for now.

"This one then," Chen Jing said, handing the chosen script to Wang Shumin.

Wang Shumin glanced at the script and frowned. "A crime-action film?"

Chen Jing nodded silently.

"These kinds of movies have been lukewarm in recent years. Are you sure you want to make this type?"

Chen Jing nodded again without a word.

Wang Shumin shrugged ambiguously. "Fine, if you like it. I’ll take a look at the script."

She read it straight through, then closed it and looked at Chen Jing, unsure what to say.

"Well? Is it okay?" Chen Jing asked with a smile.

Wang Shumin glanced at him, hesitating. She wanted to say the script was mediocre, lacking any real highlights, but didn’t want to discourage him. After a moment, she suggested gently, "If you want to reduce production costs, I’d recommend making a comedy or a romance film instead. Maybe consider switching scripts?"

The subtext was clear: let’s change the script.

Chen Jing, of course, picked up on the hint but felt it unnecessary. It wasn’t that he lacked other scripts; he just thought this one was the safest choice and best suited to him for his first film.

Seeing Chen Jing shake his head and insist on this project, Wang Shumin had no choice but to ask, "So, what’s your expected budget for this film?"

Chen Jing, encouraged, quickly replied, "It definitely won’t cost over a hundred million. I think around twenty million should be enough, after all..."

"Stop! Didn’t you hear what I just said?" Lin Xi interrupted sharply. "We don’t have investment. Where are you going to get twenty million?"

"Uh..." Chen Jing froze. That was indeed a problem. Did he have to wait months to raise money before filming? No, it had to be as soon as possible.

He furrowed his brow, pondering. When his eyes landed on Lin Xi, a sudden spark lit up. Smiling brightly, he asked her, "Xi, would you be interested in investing in the movie?"

Lin Xi was speechless. "You want me to invest in your movie?"

"Yes! Just a little. I guarantee it’s a sure win," Chen Jing transformed into a slick salesman, relentlessly persuading her.

Lin Xi refused outright without a second thought. Then, hesitating, she added, "Unless..."

Hearing her soften, Chen Jing quickly asked, "Unless what?"

"Unless you lower the budget to under ten million. Then I could consider investing five million."

She was convinced Chen Jing would lose money making a film anyway; since she couldn’t stop him, she wanted to minimize his losses.

Lin Zitan, hearing her sister’s words, joined in. "Yeah, if it’s under ten million, I’ll invest two million too."

Wang Shumin was silent. She wanted to invest as a friend as well, but she simply didn’t have that kind of money—hundreds of thousands wouldn’t be enough for Chen Jing anyway. Poor her, so out of touch with the big players.

Chen Jing fell into thought. Should he really lower the budget? Could he still achieve the effects he wanted? Alas, a clever cook can’t make a meal without ingredients.

He sighed and decided to agree for now. Once filming started, they could always increase the budget.

Feigning reluctance, he said, "Alright, saving money to keep it under ten million should barely suffice."

With the script and director set, the next issue was casting.

"Let’s pick actors from within the company first. But with limited funds, we definitely can’t afford big stars," Lin Zitan analyzed.

Chen Jing shook his head firmly. "No need for big stars. We’ll cast based on fit, only the right people, not the expensive ones."

While directors are hard to find, there are plenty of actors. Aside from a few top stars, most actors are easy to recruit. Many small-time actors scramble to join any production.

Lin Zitan nodded. "Okay, when they come for auditions, you can choose."

Chen Jing added, "Keep the two leads for now. I think there’s someone suitable—I’ll ask if he wants to join."

Lin Xi looked surprised. "Who do you plan to invite? When did you get to know anyone in the film industry?"

Chen Jing shrugged. "I want to try Liu Manqiang."

"Liu Manqiang? Who’s that? Is he a martial arts star?" Wang Shumin thought that if he was the lead, he should at least be a somewhat fitting star.

Their sudden silence was awkward.

Lin Zitan interrupted Wang Shumin’s hopeful fantasy, "Liu Manqiang is just a bit-part extra."

Wang Shumin froze. "You mean... you want a background extra to play the lead?"

Chen Jing looked guilty. "Don’t worry, Shumin. I know him. He’s been an extra for years, has solid acting skills, and he’s trained in martial arts. He can definitely handle the role."

"Sure, sure, ‘don’t worry.’" Wang Shumin stared deadpan at Chen Jing, utterly speechless.

At the Blood Battle of Gushan Ridge set, the crew was busy and orderly.

Liu Manqiang squatted to the side, bored watching the others act. Filming was nearly done, so extras like him had few chances to appear. Most of the time, they just watched.

He pulled out his battered script and flipped through it again before pocketing it. He planned to pick up some extra roles on other sets tomorrow.

Just then, his phone vibrated. Usually, calls were about work.

But when he checked, he was stunned—the unexpected call was from Chen Jing.

Since the last fiasco, Chen Jing hadn’t been to the set, and they hadn’t kept in touch. Liu Manqiang thought he was forgotten, yet now he received this call.

(End of chapter)